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great. He thinks you guys are superheroes in disguise.”
    Nathan smiled at that. It was a far cry from his first encounter with Special Agent Bruce Henning during the Bridgestone case.
    “Seriously, though,” he said, “there’s got to be a reason Montez chose to dump a weighted body in a tourist-ridden lake. There’s a million safer places to dispose of a body out there. Also, I want to know if Kramer owns property in the area or was just on vacation. Was he staying in a motel or cabin? Or maybe a rented condo?”
    “Good questions,” Holly said. “Our local resident office will be able to help. Kramer was dumped on federal property, so technically it’s a joint federal case.”
    “Good. But whatever we do, it has to be low-key. Otherwise Montez could find out the feds are after him, and if he gets spooked, we’ll never find him.”
    “I agree about being low-key,” Holly said, “but it may not be possible if the State Department gets involved. And it’s reasonable to assume it already is. Attachés assigned to U.S. embassies fall under the State Department’s jurisdiction. Whatever time we have, I’m afraid we’re looking at a very brief window.”
    “Right,” said Nathan. “So all the more urgent we get to Utah as soon as possible.”
    “Like today,” said Harv, looking at his watch. “Right after we meet with Thorny.”
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 6
     
     
     
    Nichole Dalton backed her Escalade out of her garage and smiled. Another blue sky day in San Diego. The only flaw in the weather? A slight haze from a wildfire in San Bernardino County. One of many in a newer tract of single-family homes, hers secured in the desirable end of a cul-de-sac. She lived in an area of Del Mar where her daughters’ bicycles could be left in the front yard overnight, where you didn’t have to lock your front door for a short trip to the market. Or worry about finding graffiti on your fence in the morning. On the other hand, she lived with a huge mortgage associated with such amenities. Fortunately, her ex-husband made a generous, five-digit alimony payment every month and Nichole’s own Eastern Bloc language skills were in high demand, especially by her employer, the National Security Agency. With both incomes, she was doing well. The vast majority of Nichole’s work involved translating telephone conversations through encrypted data links in her soundproof home office. The only drawback was the constant intrusion of the NSA’s technical surveillance countermeasure specialists, one of whom kept hitting on her. She didn’t mind as long as it didn’t get too heavy. She could handle friendly flirting—she’d been dealing with it since age twelve.
    On a whim, she decided to hit the huge women’s shoe sale at Nordstrom today. To promote the event, the store would open two hours early. The place was going to be a zoo, but shoes remained one of her weaknesses and she’d just have to brave the hordes. Nobody beat Nicky Dalton when it came to shoe shopping.
    At thirty-nine, she possessed the energy of a high school cheerleader and the looks to match. After her divorce, she never had a lack of offers, but often declined when asked out. Marriage remained out of the question, at least for the time being. Before walking down the aisle again, she needed to know her man was firmly committed to her and her daughters first, his job second. Her first husband, a former Air Force officer, had been a walking job. Been there. Done that. No thanks .
    The man she’d been dating lately worked as an industrial refrigeration contractor and spent the majority of his time in Eastern Europe. At first, she didn’t mind so much. Their reunions often spawned some of the most intense sexual encounters she’d ever experienced. Five years younger, the man was an animal. Voracious. But within the bigger picture, sex played a minor role in their relationship. A union based on sex alone felt empty, like a vacant house. Sex